by Matt Hammond
“Bloody hell. Dave Turner!” This was Edwyn Collington, Professor Ed as he had been nicknamed at school. He bounded across the room and engulfed David in a rather over-familiar bear hug before standing back, both hands still on David shoulders, trapping him awkwardly as he looked him up and down. “Well, well, Dave Turner.” Still clasping him tightly, as if he had just caught him and did not want to let him go, Ed shouted; “Honey, Dave’s here – you remember, the guy who sent the email about the .… you know.”
‘Honey’ emerged through the same doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Ed’s wife was a Kiwi called Anika whom Ed had met when her first marriage had broken up and she had brought a sick cat to his practice in Mount Eden. They fell in love and moved to Waiheke where Anika had grown up. There they established a successful vets’ practice. After eight years, Ed sold his share of the business to the other partners and opened the Mushroom Café with the proceeds, specialising in organic wholefood and local wines.
This story, heavily extended, together with the Turners’ own, took all four of them to the bottom of a second bottle of Cable Bay Pinot Noir as they sat in the café, eating from a bowl of fresh salad greens accompanied by a platter of local cheeses which Ed had asked his chef to prepare. Occasionally he would break off from the conversation to greet customers, most of whom appeared to also be personal friends, before going to the doorway of the kitchen to collect the next course and then return, via a guest’s table.
By nine-thirty, the last couple were leaving. Ed broke off once more from the twenty–five year catch up to escort them to the door before bolting it behind them. Around the small dining room a solitary waitress tidied up and prepared the tables for the next morning.
Ed walked back to where they were sitting and, with the delicious but potent Pinot having an effect, he slumped heavily into his chair as if he had just completed an evening’s hard labour. His glass; although now half empty, still contained a generous amount of wine. Holding it level with his face, he contemplated the deep ruby liquid. “I’m glad we bought this place when we did. Fifteen years in practice was good, but when we moved here, things started to change.” He lowered the glass heavily onto the table, his head now starting to loll from side to side as he spoke, “When we moved here and opened the practice, the whole emphasis seemed to change. Sure, we were still treating pets; cats and dogs like in the city, but here it was more stock, which was great, don’t get me wrong, more variety than a city practice, but suddenly we seemed to get bombarded by the pharmaceutical companies expecting us to sell stuff the hard-up farmers didn’t really need - hormones for this, growth enhancer for that. When we were kids, you got one kind of milk and it came in a glass bottle with a silver top. Last time I looked there were nearly a dozen different kinds of milk, not including flavoured obviously - technology hasn’t advanced quite far enough yet to actually get cows to produce strawberry milk, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time.”
Anika had enjoyed a long chat with Katherine and shown her round the house and floodlit vegetable garden. They were getting along well and had returned to the table only moments earlier. Anika coughed, interrupting Ed. “Honey, it’s getting late. Shall we pick this up tomorrow?”
But Ed was on a wine–fuelled roll, “So, anyway, one day we get a sales rep over from one of these outfits and he goes round all the dairy farms on the island, trying to get the farmers to use this latest vaccine which he says will increase their yield by some huge percentage. He persuades three of the guys to sign up for it. Then this sales joker brings over a company vet to inject the herds. This guy, Trevor something or other, spent two weeks here and reckoned the vaccine contained an enzyme that altered the chemical balance of the milk suppressing a lot of the proteins, making it cheaper to process and with a longer natural shelf life. The three guys who signed up also had to sign a contract with the company to say they wouldn’t sell the milk off the island and a special tanker would come over to collect it. They got paid a premium per litre and pretty soon another fifteen farmers on the island got wind of the extra money being made and had also signed up. Trevor kept coming over once all the dairy cattle had been vaccinated and kept us local vets well out of the way. So we ended up losing a fair amount of our regular income. In the end, the practice could no longer justify having three vets, so that was as good a time as any for a change in direction and here we are running this place.”
David sat contemplating what Ed had just said. It seemed to be exactly the independent and unsolicited confirmation he needed that the conspiracy he and Katherine had somehow become embroiled in was real and already happening on the very island they had come to escape from it.
Anika pointed once more to the clock on the wall behind the counter. “Sorry to break up the party, guys, but some of us have to be up early tomorrow. Deliveries start arriving from seven-thirty onwards and I don’t like chilled and frozen stuff just left on the doorstep.”
Only when he finally laid his head on the soft lavender-scented pillow did David think what a very long and very bizarre day it had been.
* * *
When he opened his eyes again, the mid–morning sun was streaming through the thin flower patterned curtains. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. In the distance he could hear unfamiliar voices. His nose told him Ed and Anika were already busy downstairs serving mid-morning customers their coffee and muffins.
Katherine was already up and had gone for an exploratory walk. Soon David was sitting in the small private courtyard garden at the back of the café, drinking coffee, eating a chocolate muffin and casually thumbing through the newspaper Anika had thoughtfully supplied with his late breakfast.
His heart pounded as he read the headline: Logging truck kills tourist. Just as Hone had predicted, a logging truck had jack-knifed in the path of an oncoming car. Both drivers had been killed instantly. David knew different. He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Ed. “Morning, Dave, how’s it goin’? Sleep well?” He sat opposite with his coffee. “Bit of a break before the lunch rush.”
After last night’s alcohol-fuelled revelations on Ed’s part, the pair now sat opposite each other slightly awkwardly, Ed not wanting to disturb his guest’s newspaper reading, David desperate to tell Ed his story, the real reason why he was on Waiheke. But without the wine for lubrication, he was not sure how to start.
“Ed, the thing you said last night about why you stopped being a vet, I think it may have something to do with why we are here.” Ed frowned. “I don’t mean here as in New Zealand, I mean here on the island with you and Anika.”
David spent the next twenty minutes telling him as much as he knew; the murder at Heathrow, the money on the credit card, the encounter with Hone and what he had told them. It all seemed to tie in with what Ed had said last night. Ed listened intently. His coffee sat untouched, the milky froth dying away bubble by bursting bubble.
David felt a sense of relief that he had finally been able to tell his story from the start but there was no conclusion yet. He had no idea what the ending might be. Ed shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Wow, it all sounds a bit far-fetched to me, Dave, but it certainly fills in a lot of the gaps about what’s been going on around here for the last eighteen months.”
A deafening ringing interrupted the contemplative silence. Ed winced as he pointed to the large burglar alarm-like bell over the kitchen door. “It’s ok, only the phone.” He shouted. The ringing stopped and Anika walked through the kitchen door and into the garden, the cordless phone held in front of her as if it was magnetically attracted to Ed’s ear.
“It’s for you, honey. It’s Darren from the practice, says it’s urgent.”
Ed put the phone to his ear and stood up. “Hey, Daz, how’s it going? Shit! SHIT! SHIT!” The same small expletive became progressively more forceful. “Give me twenty minutes, I’ll be right over.” Ed handed the phone back to Anika. “Me and Dave are going over to the surgery. Darren needs a hand. You and Kath will have to
take care of lunch on your own.”
He led David through the kitchen and café out into the street and climbed into his 4x4. Ed started the engine and they sped off down the road, Ed urgently stabbing at the keys on his mobile phone as he drove. He put the phone to his ear.
“Daz, it’s me, listen, you’re gonna have to activate the emergency response plan. Get whoever’s on reception to start ringing round the farms. You need to be ready for when the guys from the Ministry get there.”
He slipped the phone into his breast pocket, glanced at his watch, and peered first through the front and then the side windscreens, scanning the sky. “Tell me if you see a chopper, Dave. Watch the eastern horizon, over there,” he said, pointing past his passenger and into the distance towards the mainland.
“What’s going on, Ed? What’s happened?”
“I’ve been waiting for this. It’s probably that guy Hone and his cronies. Did you say you told him you were coming here?”
“Yes, why what’s happened?”
“Darren who runs the vet’s practice just took a call from the Ministry of Ag and Fish. Apparently some crank has sent a letter to the Prime Minister claiming to have infected a herd of cattle on the island with foot and mouth. It’s not true because it would be virtually impossible. You would have to gain access to a vial of the disease from one of MAF’s secure labs, bring it here from overseas or bring an infected animal onto the island. Darren said there have been no cattle movements on or off the island for the past three weeks, which is well outside the quarantine period.”
“So why am I watching for a helicopter?”
“The Government will have to show they are taking this seriously. It’ll be on the news in another hour. Darren says they are flying in a team of vets and, as we have the only surgery on the island, they’ll be based there.”
Ed raised his voice, his words nearly drowned out by the deafening clatter of a large military helicopter, closely followed by two smaller ones. They flew low, following the road ahead, before disappearing below the tree line, and landing.
Chapter 9
They drove into the car park of the vet’s practice. The three helicopters landed in an adjacent paddock.
David could see people, obviously unaccustomed to helicopter travel, awkwardly disembarking. Large, heavy–looking bags were thrust at them from inside the helicopters, knocking them off balance They crouched as low to the ground as possible, running for at least twice the length of the rotor blades as they struggled to protect their heads from the fierce down draught of the blades which kept up their deafening rotation.
Ed and David ran into the reception area of the building where the group was already assembling. A casual nod to Ed as they entered was the only clue David needed to indicate which one was Darren. The group stood crammed into the small space, some talking quietly, others silent as if they knew no–one else.
“Ok, guys, can I have your attention? Welcome to Operation Waiheke. Now, you should all know your teams. Each group has three properties to visit. You each have a list and the local practice is going to assist with transport and directions.” The speaker walked over to where Ed had just finished quickly introducing Darren and David. “Which one of you is Nicholls?” Darren stepped forward, shaking an outstretched hand. “Hi, Darren, Professor Eric West. I’m an exotic disease investigator with Bio Security NZ. Can I put you in charge of sorting out the transport and directions to this list of farms?” He snapped a pre-typed list from his clipboard and handing it to Darren.
David watched Ed’s face intently. It was the most serious he had seen him since they had met. His eyes were slit in a barely disguised look of distrust. He slowly turned to David, angling his head back towards the door and whispered. “Walk back to my truck in one minute.” Ed made his way behind the reception desk and out into the rear of the building.
Darren escorted his group through the same door before returning alone, stopping at the office space behind the desk. “Just photocopying the list for you guys. I won’t be a minute,” he called out.
The Professor approached David. “And you are?” he said in a less friendly tone than the one extended to Darren.
“Oh sorry - er - Dave, just dropping the cat off to be done. See you later.” The minute was up and he hurried out to Ed who was already in the driver’s seat with the engine running. He barely had time to shut the door before the 4x4 was on the road, heading back towards the café.
“So, Dave, here’s the deal. There are fifteen farms on the island involved in producing this modified milk which we know is being used for the initial production of this new fuel somewhere on the mainland. This facility is probably closely controlled by an American outfit and our Government is powerless to intervene in the private business of a legitimate company unless they have good reason. So they’ve concocted this foot and mouth story as a means of legitimately gaining access to the treated herds in order to take blood and milk samples for analysis. They probably suspected this was going on somewhere in the North Island. It appears you coming here has aroused their suspicions enough to risk putting this so-called Operation Waiheke into action in the full glare of international publicity, risking our whole beef and dairy industry in the process.”
“So what do we do?”
“In the short term - I mean the next twelve hours - nothing. We need to let them get on with it. They’re only doing their job, albeit under a bloody clever cover story. So we just need to co-operate, not arouse suspicion and get you off this island.”
Back at the café, Ed rushed into the small office area in the corner of the kitchen. “Aha, good work, Daz,” he said, retrieving a sheet of paper from beneath the fax machine, and glancing through it. “He faxed me the list Eric West gave him. Ten of the farms on it are using the enzyme. MAF have some good inside knowledge of what’s been going on here.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Ed was on the phone. As he had predicted, the suspected foot and mouth outbreak made the lunchtime news bulletins. MAF were responding to a claimed deliberate release of foot and mouth disease on the island. David listened as Ed talked to local farmers, friends and concerned council members, giving advice, sympathy and encouragement but not once giving away what he believed to be the true reason the government scientists were on Waiheke.
At four-thirty, Darren called again. Professor West had told him the Controlled Area Notice for the Island was to be put in place in the next half an hour, before the afternoon ferry was scheduled to dock This would stop animal movements to and from Waiheke and initially restrict human movement also.
“Clever,” said Ed when he came off the phone, explaining that there was no scientific reason to restrict human movement but, by doing so, the authorities would be able to stop David and Katherine from leaving, at least by ferry. So, for now, although he was not exactly captive, David was at least restricted by the Government controls that were to all intents and purposes legitimately in place.
As Ed pointed out over dinner, “It’s very clever. The Government has obviously latched onto your presence and probably realises that you may be of use to them. So they have concocted this outbreak which serves two purposes - it keeps you under their control by stopping you leaving the island, and it gives them legitimate access to the compromised herds. Brilliant, bloody brilliant. But they can’t be seen to be involved in anything that might arouse the suspicions of Cowood.”
He stopped speaking and glanced at David but it was too late. “The suspicions of who, Ed?” David had never mentioned Cowood to him by name.
“Shit damn and bugger!” Ed stood up and began pacing the floor, agitated, scratching his head and rubbing his unshaven face, wrestling with what to say next. Slowly he pulled his hands down across his cheeks and bearded chin before letting out a long sigh.
“Tell me what you know about Cowood, Ed.”
Ed pulled his chair around the perimeter of the table until he was next to David. He spoke in a hushed tone. “Cowood is the biggest single
threat this country has ever faced. It’s an invasion, a take- over, a complete desecration of the land and people of New Zealand, and only a handful of people even know its happening, let alone are trying to stop it. Look at me, Dave. Tonight I’m stone cold sober, so believe me, what I am about to tell you are cold hard facts, mate. Firstly, you are part of the invasion, Dave. You and hundreds like you are being innocently recruited to bring money into the country, barely hidden within the thin magnetic strip on a credit card. During the last two years, we reckon about $180 billion U.S. dollars have been brought in by unsuspecting tourists and immigrants like you. It’s a brilliant plan. Plant the cards at the point of departure and then let them travel into the country. Our Immigration Service and Customs haven’t a hope in hell of even beginning to know where to start as far as confiscating credit cards from everyone coming in, so in they come, tourists and immigrants carrying that valuable piece of plastic, sometimes minus a few hundred bucks if they have found the card during their journey. Once they are here, the card is retrieved, usually within twenty four hours and usually by pickpockets or bribed hotel cleaners. Occasionally the couriers deviate from their expected itinerary. Sometimes the card has to be retrieved by force. So we see a small but steady number of foreigners apparently dying on our roads, or in climbing accidents, or getting lost in the bush. Of course, the police never investigate the theft aspect of these murders because as far as they are concerned the card was never there in the first place. Once the card is back in the possession of Cowood, the money can begin its slow journey buying up the land beneath our feet. The cards are used to buy high value items, mainly from Asia - electronic goods, cars, boats, that kind of thing. It’s no coincidence New Zealand now has one of the highest rates of boat ownership and the highest rate of car ownership per head in the world. These goods are sold off primarily on a publicly accessible internet auction site which is controlled by a Kiwi holding company, but it’s ultimately owned by the American parent through a complicated series of offshore trusts.”
